


Catching a Break

by Revival_Push



Series: The Light in this Tunnel [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Castiel, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Missing Persons, Monster of the Week, Non-Human Castiel, Poison, Private Investigator Castiel (Supernatural), Private Investigators, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Unresolved Emotional Tension, not all monsters do monstrous things, suspicious coffee, the boys make decent decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 19:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15226695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revival_Push/pseuds/Revival_Push
Summary: San and Dean are on the hunt for their missing father. After months of dead ends the tension and stress between them is threatening a meltdown when a small town in Illinois catches their eye when eight kids go missing in the forest. Dean's convinced it's not their sort of gig, but the weird dude who bumped into them outside the Sheriff's Station seems to believe he knows exactly what's going on - and he may just be in on it himself.





	Catching a Break

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.

Part I: Catching a Break

 

The weather was crisp. Crisp cold for a crisp cold cookie-cut town. For the most part the houses appeared to be big and freshly built quasi-McMansions that were laid out in neat rows like white teeth. A blue metal sign informing them they were entering Brookview, Illinois whipped by them about four minutes before. Technically there was a town with actual shops, the odd restaurante and a starbucks but for the most part it was a place there houses were here to be houses and there was much else going on. Part of Dean, and definitely a part he didn’t much care to explore, liked it. Sam did not.

“It’s Stepford creepy.” Sam was turned to the window so when Dean turned to his brother all he caught was a chair-messy back of his head. “It looks like a dead town. There’s just nothing  _ here _ .”

“Sure,” Dean considered, “it’s not your college town. But it has a Starbucks  _ and  _ a Chilli’s so it’s not no where.”

“That’s a low bar Dean.”

Dean shrugged, even though Sam couldn’t see it. He was a simple man. “What was the name of the sheriff again? Wallslo?”

“Wlazło.” Sam replied, “Kevin Wlazło.” 

“Right. That. So he’s still on the lost in the woods train?”

“Oh yeah,” Sam finally turned around in his seat. There was a small cut on the side of his neck from where a very angry spirit threw him into a warped coat rack two weeks before.”But small town like this? They may not be expecting the woman running the church youth group to disappear eight children.”

“If she was a man…”

“Well, yeah. It’s a thing. People tend to not think a woman would ever hurt children.”

“I still say it was an accident. They wandered off the trail, fell into some ravine or something and now the teacher is panicking and throwing some story about them ‘ _ vanishing into thin air _ ’.”

“I’m mean the stories about people disappearing over the years isn’t nothing.”

“Yeah, it’s  _ convenient _ . For her.” 

“Not if the town turns on her it isn’t.”

“True.”

Dean hadn’t hid the fact he didn’t believe this wasn’t their sort of gig, but after months of dead leads tracking down their father and a series of shitty hunts with shittier outcomes had led them here. Two days ago eight children went missing while on a nature walk with a youth group volunteer who taught at the local elementary school. The trail was well marked and well used by the locals and according to the Department of Natural Resources website coyotes were the only local predator. Oh, and forty-odd years ago four children disappeared in the same general location.  Sam had caught onto the case immediately, full of the kind of enthusiasm Dean had been watching seep out of him with every wall thrown in their faces. Dean had listened silently while Sam scrolled and clicked away at various local sites and archives. “Look! Those kids that went missing in the sixty’s weren’t even the first. Here, this article that came out in ‘66 is talking about two kids who went missing in the late 30’s and another in 1908. All of them were between the ages of eight and thirteen and all of them were within a mile of where the youth group’s last known location. The amount of time between them don’t sound like just one one person. There’s a pattern  _ and _ escalation.”

“Or a coyote problem.” Dean had remarked. But in the end there was a bunch of missing kids, and if it was their sort of thing they probably weren’t going to get found without their help. So here they were, driving past new developments that gave way to older homes and mom and pop shops that maybe made Dean a little nostalgic for something he couldn’t quite remember. The sheriff’s department was maybe another ten, twenty minutes out but Dean could already see white fliers stapled and taped to every other wooden post and street lamp. No doubt in a small town like this the entire community had been combing through the woods non-stop. 

Since getting back into the family business Sam had taken to keeping articles and personal case notes alongside a small legal pad where he jotted down anything that had changed from their base information. An hour ago Sam noted that it had now been forty-one hours since the children were last seen. 

Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Sam’s head was buried down in his little notepad. Dean didn’t mention that Sam hadn’t looked at him straight in over two weeks and Sam didn’t point out Dean was getting more wound up and angry with every passing day. 

Dean just kept his eyes forward and let the small building with the engraved sign reading  **Brookview Sheriff’s Department** lead the way.

 

-=-=-=-

 

Brookview Sheriff’s Department was exactly like one would expect from a small county in a smaller town. The building, along with the entirety of the interior, was very clearly manufactured in the 1970’s and hadn’t been touched since. Possibly including all of the personnel. For his part Dean was mildly offended by the slightly mildew-y looking wooden panels that lined the walls, vowed to touch nothing, and then left it at that.  

Sheriff Wlazło was somewhere in his mid-fifties, though he looked somewhat older and probably had looked that way since Ronald Reagan was in office. Dean gave his firmest handshake and Sheriff Wlazło gave Sam’s hair a very suspicious look. He offered them coffee from one of the five mismatched machines clearly on loan by the good people of Brookview and directed them to his office. 

“I have to wonder here boys. We have a small population here, so it’s particularly bad when something goes wrong. Everyone knows everyone here, grew up here. And we’ve had kids go missing before.”

“So why now?” Sam supplied. The Sheriff nodded. “Well, there was an investigation regarding the four missing children who went missing in 1963, largely because of the string of missing children in Grace County.”

“Which you never determined was related.” Sheriff Wlazło took a sip of coffee that looked too hot to consume without medical treatment. “And even if it was, that was decades ago.”

Dean leaned over the desk to rest his elbows down. The surface felt sticky. He tried not to react. “True. But we’re not here to interfere, just help. We’ll make notes, bring in some new info from possibly related incidents in the local area and hopefully we’ll come to a positive end here.”

“It’s been almost two days now. I’m not telling the parents this, no sense in terrorizing them further, but you know the odds.”

Dean leaned back in his seat. “Guess we should get working then. What else can you tell us?”

 

-=-=-=-

 

Sam was stooped over his untied shoe and while Dean scanned the crowd. “Well, we definitely need to visit the youth leader, Amy whatherface.”

“Port.” Sam supplied. 

“Her, and then I guess you and I will stomp around the woods.”

Sam straightened, “I want to ask around town some too. Sheriff Wlazło said  _ everyone knows everyone _ . Might as well see what people say about Amy Port, the parents. I bet plenty remember the missing kids in the 60’s too.”

Dean felt someone come up behind him and gave a half turn. 

The first thing Dean noticed was the hat. It was sort of a ridiculous dark blue knitted thing with flaps that hung over the man’s ears. It was heavily drawn down on his forehead. At the end of the flaps were braided strings with a single cream pom pom at the bottom of each braid.

Pompom guy stood loosely in front of them and bounded a little on the balls of his feet. “They’re putting out a ten-thousand dollar rewards now you know. For information that leads to finding the children. Not for you of course. You’re just doing your job. Obviously.”

Dean blinked and then really looked at him. The man stood a few inches shorter than himself and considerably more lankly. His also had a shit-eating look in his eye and a slight smile Dean wasn’t exactly sure what to do with.

“Yeah, that’s us.” 

Sam pushed forward a little, “Do you live here?”

The guy smiled for real, “Oh, no. Strictly here on business.” The man reached deep into the black peacoat he had tightly wound around him and came up with a small handful of cream-colored business cards. After a moment he selected one and presented it to Sam, who dutifully read aloud, “Castiel Novak. Private Investigator.” 

Dean couldn’t hold back the scoff that bubbled out of his throat. “ _ Castiel?  _ Do any of those say professional bullshitter?”

A startled noise Dean recognized vaguely as a laugh came out of the guys mouth. The guy’s lips were chapped. The guy -Castiel- leans in conspiratory. “Does yours,  _ agent _ ?” 

Sam’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Well, I’m just saying federal agents don’t get to split ten thousand dollars with me. But you could. Well,” he amended, “three-thousand three-hundred and whatever to each of you.”

“Wow.” Dead deadpanned, “Rolling in dough, huh.”

“I think you and I both know this isn’t really about the money. After all,” he drawled with just a bit too much pep, “children are the future.”

Dean placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder to steer him in the general direction of elsewhere when weird pompom dude butted in again, “ _ And  _ I have insider information. For real. I know where they are and I know they’re alive.” Sam stiffened under his palm, “But I could use some help to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Castiel produced a pen from one of his pant leg pockets and scribbled a hurried mark on the back of the business card. “Here,” Castiel passed the card over to Sam, who took it tentatively. “There’s a diner a few streets over. The address is on there. Take a look around, snoop, whatever. I’ll be there this evening around 9:00 if your interested. But I want you to know now this isn’t something a normal cop is going to resolve.” Castiel took a small step back and gave a nod, “Good luck. Agents.”

“What the hell was that about?”

Still positioned slightly in front of him Sam produced the card Castiel gave him and flipped it over so Dean could read it, “I don’t know but clearly he thinks he knows something we won’t figure out.” 

Dean leaned in closer.

_ Like Magic! _

-=-=-=-=-=-

  

Sam and Dead had spent the last ten hours stomping around creaky homes, teetering around on the edge of the front decks of suspicious owners and wading through the snow-mucked dirt through the heavy vegetation of the forest. In the grand scheme of an investigation ten hours wasn’t much, but it’d been fifty-five hours since the kids went missing. And it was supposed to snow again that night.   

Which made everything that much more awful.

There was something particularly hard about the alternative visits with parents full of hope and grief all at once. If possible that was the most draining part of their day. 

Nothing they had found suggested it was their sort of work. Alternately, as Sam had pointed out, they, and the entirety of the search party over the last couple of days, had found  _ nothing _ . ‘ _ Vanished into thin air _ ’, like Amy Port had told them through blotchy frustration when they stopped by the colonial two-story she lived in with her parents. “I swear, I didn’t even turn away. They were just there one second and then  _ gone _ .” 

And for all the search parties efforts the last 55 hours that’s exactly what it looked like. One of the department’s deputies, an enthusiastic kid who introduced himself as ‘Dunkin Moore, sir’, led the pair to the location Amy Port swore she saw them last. It had been marked off with tape and entirely unremarkable, except for the skeleton of a car a few dozen feet beyond the tape zone and the relatively new bumper half wrapped around an impressive pine tree nearby. Deputy Moore gave the rusted frame a gentle tap by the heel of his boot. “Yeah, happened in the 70’s. Drunk ran his dumb self off the road. DOA.”

Sam gestured towards the bumper against the tree a few yards north of their location, “That looks a lot newer.”

Deputy Moore nodded in agreement, “Oh yeah, that happened right before the first storm of the season. We didn’t even find it until a few weeks ago when the snow melted a bit.” He paused a moment, considering, “No fatalities though, so that’s good.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “Good.”

But that had been the end of it. 

The department insisted there had been no trail of footprints or disturbed ground, despite the soft ground underfoot. The dogs circled in confused figure-eights. It’s like the kids were never even there.

“I say they weren’t ever on near it.” Dean said pointedly at Sam when Deputy Moore was out of earshot. Maybe one of them fell and hit their head or had an allergic reaction or whatever. The girl panicked. Tried to clean up the mess.”

Sam hadn’t looked convinced, “That’s a lot more believable if it was one or two maybe, but eight kids? I mean, that’s just brutal. Plus they could just you know,  _ run _ .”

Dean fished out the last of the king size bag of M&Ms he had shoved in his pocket and offered them to Sam, who waved him off. Dean poured the contents into his mouth and chewed, “Yeah, deeper into the forest where a pack of coyotes got lucky.”

But in the end it was all speculation and they had nothing.

Well, they had a business card. Not that that was worth anything.

“He’s a quack, Sam. He’s probably got a psych file the size of the dictionary. He’s-”

“On Yelp,” Sam finished. “4.5 out of 5 stars.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Yeah, for what? Cheating spouses and lost dogs?”

“Some,” Sam conceded while he scrolled down his phone, “Cathy D. from Newark says, ‘Mr. Novak might just be psychic! Couldn’t believe how quickly he found my stolen Camry. The police told me there was nothing else they could do but he got the job done. Worth every penny.’” Sam looked up, “Well, psychics  _ are  _ a thing. Bobby’s has that friend...Pamela, I think?”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get to that stupid diner. I’m freaking starving.”   

 

-=-=-=-

 

Sam and Dean found themselves situated at the entrance of  _ Mama’s  _ at approximately 9:15 PM. True to his word Castiel was sitting in a corner booth, a large cup of coffee and an absurd amount of french fries piled in a red basket, which Castiel pushed slightly towards Sam and Dean as they sat down. Before thinking past his stomach Dean snagged one off the top and made a small noise of appreciation. Castiel looked pleased. Dean frowned. 

“You should try their ice cream. They make it fresh in the back. Personally, I think their maple pecan is a modern nectar of the gods.” 

Sam looked a little taken aback, “Maybe later.”

Castiel snapped back to attention, “Right. I take it you found nothing.”

Sam folded his hands on the table, half obscuring a series of painted chickens to appeared to be in the midst of a conga line, “ No leads. No hint that the kids were ever there at all.”

“Except the word of Amy Port,” Dean cut in. 

Castiel nodded as a waitress came up to the table. Sam and Dean both asked for coffee, black. Dean opted for one of the all day breakfast selections. Sam ordered something far too green looking. And then the waitress left.

And then everything got weird.

“Have you ever seen a fae before?”

Dean stared.

Sam blinked. “Like a fairy?”

Castiel gave a small, serious frown, “Well, yes. Though I’m not sure they prefer that. I like to think of fae as more of an umbrella term. Fairy sounds like...Tinkerbell.” Castiel grabbed a french fry.

Dean stared some more, “Are you high? Or just a total ass?”

“Neigher, probably.”

“You can’t be serious.”   
“I usually am.”

“Fairies aren’t real.”

“Neither are ghosts. Or werewolves. Or vampires. Or ghouls.” Castiel looked up, “Something to say about any of those?”

Dean rocked a bit back into the booth, one hand unscionously creeping towards the gun at his side. “Dude, you need to start making some sense here.”

“I know you’re hunters. And I know you know what’s out there.” Castiel suddenly looked very, very serious, “And I’m telling you, there’s something out there now.”

There was a puniont pause.

Sam cleared his throat, “Okay. Okay. So why do you think fairies, sorry.  _ Fae _ , are responsible for the missing children?”

“A friend of a friend tipped me off. I have decent relations and plenty of experience with the fae. They’re sort of one of my specialties.” 

Sam ducked his head and dropped his volume, “Are you a hunter?”

Castiel broke out into a wide smile. “Not in the least. But now that we’re on the same page I would like to point out we haven’t been formally introduced.” Castiel straightened his posture and reached out his hand towards Sam, “Hello. My name is Castiel Novak and I solve people’s problems. Sometimes people have very weird problems.”

Sam reached across the table, “Sam Winchester. This is my brother, Dean.”

Dean begrudgingly reached out his hand for Castiel’s. Dean noticed the cuticles on Castiel’s hand were pretty shredded.

“Nice to meet you both.” Castiel settled back into the booth’s cushion and reached for the over-sized coffee cup in front of him. The waitress returned with their drinks. 

“Did you see the car wrecks by where Ms. Port said she last saw the kids?”

“Yeah,” Sam blew slightly over the rip of his cup, “One of the deputy’s showed us the skeleton car by the disappearance area and then the bumper from the one earlier this year.”

“Well, did your deputy mention that the new accident in November struck the skeleton car on it’s way down?”

Dean grabbed another fry off of Castiel’s plate, “And that’s important because?”

“ _ Because _ when the new accident collided with the old one it shoved the skeleton car right through an entrance to the fae’d territory and broke through the border that separated it. Basically it broke down the door and the kids fell through it.”

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t quite realized he’d been holding. “And you know this because what? Some fae went up and told you?”

“Essentially, yes. Told me and asked me to take the children back to the human world.”

“Wait,” Sam protested, “fairies like human children, don’t they? Isn’t that what changelings are all about?”

“Historically, yes. But a lot of things have changed. It’s easier for fae to walk around in the human world now. Part of what draws fae to humans, particularly human children, is the curiosity of it. The novelty. Now if a fae living on fae land wants to venture out they basically can.”

“But why?” Dean asked, “Wouldn’t they be more sensitive to all the crap humans are doing in the world now? Cars and building and stuff?”

Castiel nodded, though Sam looked a bit surprised. 

“What?” Dean asked, “It’s basically common knowledge fairies don’t do metal. Besides, they live in nature and shit.”

Castiel gave another half smile, “Yes and no to the human world. People are a lot less to look at someone who looks a bit off and think, ‘well that is not a human being’. Now people just think it’s some person who likes their hair looking like cotton candy or that they have had a bit too much plastic surgery.”

“And now they’re just willing to give back the children? Just like that?”

Castiel paused for a moment and opened his mouth when Dean cut in, “Wait, lemme guess. Yes and no.”

Castiel set his eyes on Dean’s. In the lighting they looked especially dark, like blue marbles set against him. 

“Correct, Dean. Yes and no. They don’t want trouble with humans. Especially people like us. Alternatively, fae have a tendency to enjoy their games.” His brows furrowed, “I’m not entirely sure who they think is getting the benefit here. They may ask for something in exchange.”

Sam looked a bit perplexed, “Like what?”

The waitress chose that moment to arrive with their food. Dean’s mouth started watering the moment the scent of fresh bacon reached him. By the time the plates hit the table Castiel had perked up substantially. “Don’t worry about that part.”

Dean tore off a piece on bacon with his teeth, “So what part should we be worrying about exactly?”

“The skeleton car. Specifically I need you two to take care of moving it out of the border so the fae can close it back up.”

“And they can’t because it’s metal.” Sam chipped in.

“Because it’s iron,” Castiel corrected, “but basically yes.”

Dean could feel Castiel’s big marble eyes on him while he inhaled half his eggs. Eventually Dean glanced up to find he was correct. 

“So,” Castiel asked, “are you two in?”

And finally, for the first time in two weeks Sam looked Dean right in the eye. 

“We’re in.” Sam said.

 

-=-=-=-   

 

“We’re  _ idiots _ .” Dean gritted out between his teeth, “Brave and very good-looking idiots. Trapezing through the snow looking for  _ fairies. _ ” 

To be totally fair Castiel looked like he was struggling even more against the cold. Something about the night surrounding him made his skin look fragile somehow. Dean’s teeth rattled. He and Sam treaded on behind Castiel, who, though hunched over, kept his pace in a steady determination Dean couldn’t help but feel like he needed to match. For his part Sam was silent, possibly due to the constricting  layers of scarves he had wound around him from his neck all the way up to his eyeballs. 

Castiel came to a sudden stop up ahead and made a stiff gesture with his right arm. “Alright, I think the interfering part of the car is along this part. Do you see the edge of the hood over there?” 

Dean squinted in the dark and gestured his flashlight perpendicular to the wind. Vaguely he could see the outline of the skeleton car, but nothing that really indicated this was the problem spot. He exchanged a look with Sam and affirmed the sighting to Castiel. 

“Good. I’m going to step through.” Castiel took a few shuffled steps forwards and then came to a jolted hot. For the first time Dean thought he looked a bit worried. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I will return.”

“Right,” Dean grunted. He didn’t like this. But he had Sam at his back and the kids were running out of time and Dean had a running track of the mothers’ faces as they showed him and Sam school pictures. He sighed. “Okay. Well pull the car back. You. You just come back. With the kids.”

Castiel nodded. And then he was gone. 

Literally, and then he was gone. Just like that. Just like he had completely disappeared into thin air. Just like Amy Port had said. 

“Holy shit.” 

For a moment he and Sam both stared off into the dark where Castiel had just stood a moment before.

“Okay.” Dean breathed, “Maybe fairies afterall.”

Behind his mountain of scarves Sam made a humming affirmation. 

And then they got to work. 

 

-=-=-=-

 

They’d been at it for around fifty minutes when Sam finally said it. “So Castiel.” 

Dean secured a clamp and gave it a solid tug before maneuvering himself around to the other side of the frame to start digging in under the bumper with one of the shovels they had totted out to the site. 

“Oh yeah,” Dean replied, “He’s off. Big time.”

Sam grunted into his own dig, “So you think he’s…?”

“Oh definitely. The question is, is he lying and is he trying to kill us? Or just playing us?”

“Or,” Sam suggested, “telling the truth and full of good intentions.”

“When is it ever that?,” Dean threw back. This cold was not making him a happy camper.

Sam paused for a moment, trying to leverage his already impressive height a bit further up, “But why draw us into it? There’s no way in hell we could have come up with any of this. At least not this soon.”

“I don’t know, man. Maybe it get him off.” Dean counted aloud to three and then pushed down all his weight on his shoulder. 

“Did you know, in lore fairies can’t lie?”

The frame made a squealing noise and gave way. 

“Wouldn’t that be convenient.”

The broken off half of the frame slid down the decline and came to a rest some ten feet away.

Sam leaned against his shovel. “Well, we did our part. I guess we’ll find out the rest soon enough.”   
Dean patted his jacket. “And were plenty prepared if it all goes south.”

Across him Dean saw Sam’s mouth flatten into a straight line. “Yeah.”

 

-=-=-=-

 

Despite all his gungho energy earlier Dean was struggling a bit now to stay alert. It was just after 1:30 AM. It’d been four and a half hours since Castiel disappeared. Which made sixty hours since the kids had vanished and now nearly thirty hours since Dean had last slept on a shit motel bed. 

Maybe is was the cold, or maybe the odd, peaceful dark of the forest surrounding them. Whatever it was it was lulling him half to sleep when the noises began. And then he was wide the fuck awake. 

Dean’s eyes practically flew open.

“Sam?”

Sam whipped around beside him and looked off into the distance at Dean’s back, “I hear it.”

Dean lifted his head again it as it got louder. It was singing, but not. Dean could almost call it melodic wailing. It came in a constant stream from everywhere around them, through them. The highs made the hair on his body prick up at full attention and the lows made his bones feel water logged and weighed.

As suddenly as it started it died off. Slowly enough that Dean found himself leaning towards it, half in mind to chase after it for no discernible reason he could come up with. Possibly the only thing that stopped him from doing so is that he’d have to walk straight through Castiel and a gaggle of kids to do it. 

Beside him Sam started so hard it jolted Dean. 

Castiel had that very serious look to him, the one he had worn since they left the diner. His face looked slightly odd. Sharper somehow. His skin pale and oddly drawn.  _ Like glass _ , Dean’s mind supplied. 

“Sam. Dean. We need to head out.” 

Dean looked down. A small hand was clutched in each of Castiel’s hands. 

Castiel address the other hands that were clutched at the various folds of fabric. “This is Sam and Dean. They’re here to help. Grab their hands and remember the buddy system!”

Before Dean could really observe whatever it was Castiel had brought back through with him Dean had a handful puffy coat and curly hair.

Blissfully, thankfully, human.   

This time everyone got to come back home. 

Dean smiled into the kids coat.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

Dean and Sam were back at  _ Mama’s _ as per Castiel’s instruction. Dean didn’t object to the public setting and Sam didn’t object to the food. 

It was possible that they were both just drunk on the success of the night before. That and super sleep deprived. 

Just like before though Castiel was timely. 

He was also back to his chipper self.

“Good morning Sam, Dean.” Castiel plopped down in the booth across the pair, the two manilla envelope in his hand waving haphazardly. He noticed the third coffee that was sent in front of his seat and made a slight motion towards it before seeming to think better of it. “You shouldn’t have.”

Dean smiled back, “Oh, I think it’s the least we could do. Really.”

“Really?” Castiel leaned back, “Even if it made me ill? Or even killed me?”

Dean held his eyes, his hand set on the iron loaded gun on him right thigh, “Would it?” 

Castiel set the envelopes on the table, suddenly a lot more reserved. “Even if it did, do you suppose I deserve that?”    

Silence at the table. 

“You’re one of them.” Sam finally stated. 

Castiel didn’t deny it or else seem particularly shocked by the accusation.

“Somewhat,” He conceded with a half smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. “Just enough to get bosses around into doing the occasional favor, but not enough to get invited to family dinners.” 

Despite the admission Dean did not find himself tightening the grip on his 22. “So your ‘friend of a friend’?”

“An actual friend of a friend.” Castiel shrugged, “The world has changed. There are a lot more people like me out there now. I am what I am.”

“Which is what, exactly? A halfling? What does that even mean?”

“Oh way less than that. And,” Castiel’s violet blue eyes met Dean’s sharply, “what it means is that sometimes I have access to useful information. Like the kind that bring eight little kids home.” 

Dean forced himself to relax his face. Dean was aware he wasn’t being entirely fair here.

“Right. I’m sorry.” Dean swallowed, “Thank you, Castiel.”

Castiel smiled, all sharp teeth and sharp angles, “You’re welcome, Dean.”

Castiel reached his hand across the table. He shook Dean’s hand, then Sams, and lingered on neither. He didn’t stay for food and didn’t take a sip of the coffee. But he could have. Safely, too.  Some forty minutes after Castiel had left Dean didn’t ask Sam if his right hand still felt unusually warm. They just threw their well-worn duffle bags into the back of the Impala and headed on out towards the next case. 

This time when they passed the sign on town’s edge Dean slowed down enough to read: 

Brookview, Illinois

Population 9,063 

_ A nice place to live _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a message after the ___.


End file.
